


numbers

by Mongo00



Series: holding on (to life) [14]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV First Person, POV Tyler Joseph
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:51:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mongo00/pseuds/Mongo00
Summary: Self harm thoughts and struggles with clean streaks





	1. 2 and 2

Two weeks and two days, but who’s counting?

Me. 

I’m counting, but I’m the only one.

Two weeks and two days since I last cut. 

It’s been hard as hell not to cut, yet no one says anything. People say things when I cut, when I give in. They show support when I crumble, but not when I stay strong.

It makes me want to crumble more. I want the support and affection; I’m touched starved.

I want to know that someone is thinking about me, that my life isn’t worthless; it sure seems worthless when no one notices that I’m staying clean.

No one notices how much I want to cut; no one notices how I look at the fading lines on my skin, wishing there is another; no one notices how I wish I could feel the euphoric release. 

Two weeks and two days seem insignificant. It seems like I should be able to stay clean for much longer. 

But two weeks and two days is my longest clean streak. 

I had a mini celebration at one week and six days (my previous record), but it’s hard to keep celebrating when everyone puts your accomplishment down. 

“I haven’t cut in over two weeks” I say getting followed by “cool,” “good,” or “okay.”

Two weeks and two days since I’ve felt the desperate release I constantly crave for. 

Two weeks and two days fighting the urges. 

But no one cares. 

So why do I keep track if no one else cares?

Because it’s the only hope I have left. There’s nothing else in my life that’s improving; my clean streak is my only hope.

Two weeks and two days since I’ve felt at peace and free. 

Two weeks and two days since I haven’t felt the inside pain fade away.

The pain.

The pain radiates from my body and courses through my blood; the pain that no one else can see, apparently; the pain that feels like a ton of bricks holding me down; the pain that makes me want to stop fighting; the pain that makes me cry myself to sleep; the pain that makes me feel sorry for myself; the pain that makes me feel worthless and numb. 

The pain that goes away with lines.  
_____

Six. 

Six is the number of lines on my skin. 

Six is the number of times that I’ve felt relieved. 

Six is the number everyone wants me to stay at when 600 is the number I want.

Six is the number that everyone expects me to stay at.

Seven is the number where they’ll show they care one more time. One more time until eight. 

Six is the number of lines that everyone tells me that I wish weren't there. 

Six is the number of lines I smile at, reminiscing the sweet feeling that those lines gave me.

Seven is the number I wish I had; seven to infinity is the number I wish I had.  
_____

Two weeks and two days that I wish became zero.

Why isn’t it zero?

Because the people that don’t support me at two weeks and two days get disappointed when it becomes zero.

I’d rather have no commentary than guilt tripping negative ones. 

It’s been two weeks and two days since I last cut, and all I want is for that number to go back to zero.


	2. 100

100\. 

100 days since I gave in. 

I’m not sure why I’m counting or how I got to 100 when I just want to go back to zero everyday. I guess that I’m not really doing it for myself though, I’m doing it for others. 

I never thought I’d get to 100 and I’m quite satisfied. I assume that I’ll stop this meaningless streak the moment I get back home and never tell anyone.

What’s the point? Why would I stop doing something that makes me feel better for other people? 

Harm doesn’t even have negatives. They just leave marks that no one else can see and they fade! 

I sit here and I wonder why I’ve fought the urge for 100 days. It doesn’t affect other people when I don’t cave in, but they suddenly care when I do.

However, this simple problem has a simple answer: just don’t tell them. 

Cutting doesn’t endanger my life and I can’t die from them. I used to get scrapes all the time as a kid so what’s the difference? 

I think I just waited until I reached 100 to reset the numbers so that I can say that I reached a milestone that is meaningless to me but meaningful to others. 

The only good thing about today is that I’ve stayed clean for long enough that I can cut. 

But something changes after today: I’m going to keep my clean streak private. 

I’ve tried the concept of staying clean and I don’t see any benefit of it. I don’t feel better, stronger, or braver from it no matter what others tell me. 

Day 100 marks the day that I give up. I give up on staying clean for others because 100 days is enough and there’s no need for more.


End file.
